


Ichabbie Extras

by blueflowers, spark_of_jenius



Series: Family Ties [5]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Deleted Scenes, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:28:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueflowers/pseuds/blueflowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spark_of_jenius/pseuds/spark_of_jenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ichabbie scenes from future, never-to-be-published-here installments of Family Ties. Posted without rhyme or reason or semblance of plot. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Abbie blinked sleepily. Sunlight was coming in around the blinds in her room--she had slept in. Must not be a work morning, then...

Memory returned. Ichabod. She looked down and saw his long arm wrapped about her, pale against her brown skin. His warmth was at her back; she could feel his chest rise and fall slowly with his steady breathing.

Abbie felt something expanding in her chest, a feeling almost too big for her to contain it. She smiled and gently touched his hand.

Ichabod shifted slightly in his sleep, tightening his arm around her.

She wriggled around to face him, throwing one leg over his hip to bring him closer. Abbie lifted her hand and began tracing the lines of his face, trying to memorize this moment: this, their first shared morning. The sun kindly illuminated the curve of his cheek, the beautiful straight length of his nose, his brow in repose (for once), his lips, swollen from practical application to something other than erudition. Heart full, she held her breath and waited for the next moment, when he would open his impossibly blue eyes and see her.

He stretched a little, sighed deeply, and opened his eyes. When they focused on her, a smile spread across his face. "Good morning, my dear one," he said, stroking his hand slowly across her back.

"Hey." She smiled back, feeling reasonably pleased with herself, still caressing his face. "Look at you."

He raised his eyebrows. "What about me?" he asked.

Abbie twinkled at him, her eyes merry. "I *like* looking at you. You're very *lookable*."

He smiled. "The feeling is mutual, beautiful." He kissed her.

She wrapped her leg tighter around his hips, her arms sliding around his back. "Mmm. I like touching you, too. And -" she kissed him again, "tasting you, definitely. Breakfast of champions."

His hand slid from her upper back to her lower, pressing her to him.

She gasped slightly at the welcome pressure, her mouth a perfect oval, eyes fluttering closed. "Oh. Good morning to *you*, too."

000

When they finally got out of bed, they took a shower. Ichabod had to change back into his clothing from the day before.

Abbie considered him as she zipped up her jacket. "You should maybe keep some things here," she said, and then realized she was making some gigantic assumptions. "I mean. Um. If you... hey, looks like a nice day out. Is the coffee ready?"

He looked at her in confusion. "Er... I believe so?"

"Great!" She grabbed a mug and poured it out so fast she splattered her hand with the boiling liquid, gasping at the sudden, searing pain. "Ow ow ow, son of a b--" Abbie shook the coffee off her scalded hand, holding it over the sink.

Crane quickly turned the cold tap and gently held her hand under the running water. "Easy, beautiful," he murmured.

She hissed as the cold water eased the pain. "No more than I deserve," she muttered darkly.

"What is wrong?" he asked, frowning at her in concern. He touched her cheek with his free hand, then froze for a moment. "Are you regretting..."

"What? No, hell no," Abbie looked up at him in shock. "No, I'm much more interested in figuring out how I can make all that happen again. Several times. Today." She grinned. "But I'm guessing you'd like a change of clothes?"

He smiled back, broadly. "That *would* be desirable, yes." He paused. "To *both* propositions."

Her gaze dropped. "And I was thinking... maybe you'd like to leave a few things here sometimes." She buried her face in his chest. She'd never asked a man to move his things in, to stake a claim like that - she'd gone out of her way to avoid it. But with Crane... it was different. Somehow the idea was so much more *intimate*, which was hilarious, considering everything they'd just done and were definitely planning to do again, hopefully soon.

He wrapped his arms around her, comfortingly. "I would like that," he said gently.

"I don't know why I'm being so weird about it," she said, muffled by his shirt and coat. Abbie leaned her head back, coming up for air. "Never asked anybody to keep stuff here before. You'll be my first," she murmured, stroking her fingers along his bearded jaw. "The only one."

He smiled at her, tenderly, and bent to kiss her. "I'm honoured," he said, his voice thrumming beneath her fingertips. "I love you, Abbie."

She went up on tiptoes to kiss him, and even then was wishing for a stepstool. "Would that be," she asked between kisses, "in the passive sense, or the active one?"

He chuckled, bending lower for her convenience. "Both," he answered.

She smiled against his mouth. "I do love a man who can multitask."

He kissed her again. "You will have to define that word for me," he murmured.

Abbie laughed, low and soft. "Accomplishing multiple tasks. Like so," and she engaged his mouth in a duel of lips and tongues while deftly unbuttoning his breeches and slipping her hand inside. "Multitask."

000

Abbie drove them to Ichabod's cabin for him to change clothes, and then they got some lunch and drove to the station.

Mid-afternoon, the call came in. "Mills, Crane, suit up. Hostage situation developing, with a side of weird," barked Irving, grabbing his sidearm. "Let's go."

Ichabod sat in the front seat of Abbie's car, tapping his fingers anxiously on his thighs. He remembered the first hostage situation he had encountered--in fact, it was one of the first times he had worked with her under the eyes of the police. He recalled watching nervously as Abbie entered Mr. Gillespie's house, the panic of the moment in which he heard the gunshot. He had thought momentarily that he had lost his one anchor to sanity, his one friend in this century.

His hand clenched into a fist.

Abbie side-eyed him. "You okay?"

He slowly uncurled his fingers. "Yes," he answered, and took a deep breath.

They pulled into the parking area, strewn with other police cars and yellow tape. Abbie picked up her gun and her badge and hesitated. "Crane."

"Yes?"

She offered him a smile. "I love you." 

\--description of funhouse—

Outside of the car, Abbie was all professional. "What've we got?"

Irving handed her a flak jacket. "Perp's one Homer Willis, 45, in and out of psych wards for the last six. He's got three teenagers holed up in there with him. Place is wired to blow. We've got a team working on it, but we need time. Willis says he'll only speak to one of God's affirmed. I don't have a ton of those on my payroll, so you're up, Mills."

Crane looked up at the building Captain Irving had indicated. "Fun House?" he read off of the sign.

"Fun like a brick to the head," muttered Abbie, adjusting the vest. She took the wire Irving held out and nestled it into her ear. "You read me?"

"We hear you, Mills," came the response, crackling in her ear. "Be careful in there."

"Yes," Crane said, touching her arm one last time. "Be careful."

"Will do." Hands up in a gesture of surrender, Abbie stepped out from behind the protective circle of official vehicles. "Willis!" she called. "I'm coming in!"

"ARE YOU AFFIRMED BY GOD?" came a rough, strained voice across the field separating the funhouse from the parking lot. "SHE WHO COMETH IN THE LIGHT MUST FACE THE DARKNESS..."

"I'M AS AFFIRMED AS I'M GONNA GET," Abbie answered. "I'M A WITNESS." She hoped that was the right answer.

A thin cackle wafted out on the breeze. "Then they heard a loud voice from heaven saying to them, “Come up here.” And they went up to heaven in a cloud, while their enemies looked on."

"They are the two olive trees and the two lampstands, and they stand before the Lord of the earth," Abbie answered. It was the verse *before* Willis's, not the verse after, but that one talked about seven thousand people being killed in an earthquake, and she didn't want to give him any ideas.

The door swung open as though in invitation. Abbie walked in, slowly.

The funhouse was nearly pitch-black inside. Abbie paused for a moment, trying to let her eyes adjust to the dark. There were glowing, exaggerated faces on the walls. Abbie walked forward slowly. "Mr. Willis?" she said. "Let's talk."

"Bring your testimony, child." An eldritch laugh came from the darkness to her left. "Give voice to the tongue of flame."

"Please," came a whisper from the floor. "Please help us."

Abbie turned to face the laugh. "What do you want with these children, Mr. Willis?"

He stepped forward into the weird half-light, nicotine-yellow hair sticking out in crazy tufts over a wrinkled, sunburned head. "I will destroy the counsel thereof: and they shall seek to the idols, and to the charmers, and to them that have familiar spirits, and to the wizards."

Abbie began to wonder if this was her and Crane's kind of weird after all. "Are you saying that these kids have familiar spirits, Mr. Willis?" she said tentatively.

His mouth stretched impossibly wide in a rictus-like grin. "They *are* the familiars, child. Look at them, with their painted faces and painted bodies and rags of gold. They are the idols, the charmers, and I shall bring the fires of God to cleanse them."   
Okay, definitely just run-of-the-mill batshit, then. Damn. That would be MUCH harder to deal with. "They look like regular teenagers to me, Mr. Willis," she answered, her voice carefully neutral.

Actually, they looked like TERRIFIED teenagers. Now that her eyes adjusted to the light, Abbie could see that there were two boys and a girl, huddled together on the floor. One of the boys was visibly shaking; the other two didn't look much better.

A small red dot traced its way over Abbie's face as Willis stepped further into the room, the laser sight on his *very* high-powered rifle blinding her for a second. In the other hand he held what looked ominously like a detonation device. "I will send my terror ahead of you and throw into confusion every nation you encounter. I will make all your enemies turn their backs and run."

Abbie tried a different tack. "But in your great mercy you did not put an end to them or abandon them," she quoted, "for you are a gracious and merciful God."

"Doing great, Mills," a voice buzzed in her ear.

Willis checked himself and looked at her. "I shall take hold of your right hand to subdue nations before you and to strip kings of their armor, to open doors before you so that gates will not be shut."

On the floor, one of the boys was edging toward the open door. Willis did not seem to notice.

She needed to make him feel that she was on his side. Was she doing that by quoting scripture, or would she just antagonize him?

She moved around the room, away from the door, drawing Willis's eyes away from the subtle escape attempt. "Your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should perish," she said.

There was a glint in his eye. "Tell me, Affirmed. Are you a prophet of the Lord that you should divine His will?"

Delicate ground. The voice on the other end of the radio was silent: they didn't know the scripture like she did. They couldn't help.

"The Lord has sworn and will not change his mind," she quoted. One boy had gotten through the door, and the girl was following him silently.

He nodded, slowly, as though he was turning it over in his mind. "The mind set on the flesh is hostile toward God; for it does not subject itself to the law of God, for it is not even able to do so, and those who are in the flesh cannot please God."

The third teen slipped out the door, and seconds later, "Clear," came a quiet crackle in her earpiece.

"Join me, sister, in shedding the burden of the flesh, that we may rise like ashes on the wind and touch the face of God!" Willis held up the detonator.

"SHI--" Abbie dove through a doorway, getting as many walls as possible between herself and the explosives.

And then the bomb went off.

"ABBIE!" Crane shouted as the "Fun House" exploded, splinters and boards flying around them.


	2. Chapter 2

Irving grabbed at his earpiece. "Mills! MILLS!" He ripped the receiver out of his ear and started running toward the burning building, weapon drawn. "Somebody call a bus, and get the fire department out here!" he directed, coughing in the smoke.

Ichabod was on his heels in a moment. They waded into the broken and burning shell of the funhouse. Ichabod coughed, waving his hand in front of his face. There was so much smoke--he couldn't see anything.

Abbie couldn't hear anything, couldn't see anything through the billowing smoke. She squinted, eyes streaming, and lifted a hand to push at the debris covering her. The heat was intense, and creeping closer. "OFFICER DOWN!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, choking. "OFFICER DOWN! HELP ME, PLEASE!" She was bleeding from a thousand tiny cuts, she was pretty sure her wrist was broken, and there was a ceiling beam across her midsection, cutting off feeling to her legs. Abbie sent up a prayer and called for the one man she *knew* would be looking for her. "CRANE! I'M HERE - CRANE!"

"ABBIE!" Crane and Irving followed the sound of her voice. Suddenly she was before them. Her face and clothes were blackened with smoke. Crane knelt down beside her and put his hand on a piece of hot metal. He snatched it back. "Irving--the beam--"

Frank looked around for something to brace the beam with, grabbing a nearby two-by-four and wedging it under. He leaned against the makeshift lever with all his might. "You got her, Crane?"

Ichabod tucked his hands under her armpits. "Ready."

Irving gave a mighty push. "NOW!" he gritted, and shifted the debris pile for a fraction of a second.

Ichabod pulled Abbie backward, getting her clear just before Irving dropped the beam. "Abbie?" he said breathlessly. "Where are you hurt?"

A shower of plaster and Irving interrupted. "Get her out of here, Crane, this place is coming down!" He grabbed his walkie-talkie while pushing at Ichabod's shoulders. "Is that ambulance here yet? Go, Crane, go!"

It was all Abbie could do to clutch at his sleeve with one hand, coughing.

Ichabod scooped her up in his arms, racing out of the smoking, shivering hull of the funhouse, his feet slipping on debris. As he came out again into clear air, Irving at his heels, he heard a cracking noise, and what was left of the funhouse caved in on itself.

A pair of paramedics ran up, a yellow board between them. "Lay her here," they instructed, and began assembling an assortment of belts and buckles to strap Abbie to the board.

Her eyes met Crane's as they took her from him.

"Is there space? In the ambulance?" he said breathlessly.

"Family members only, sir," was the reply, and they bustled past him.

"She's--she's my betrothed," he said quickly. Irving shot him a look, but didn't say anything.

The paramedic gave a nod and once Abbie was loaded in, indicated that Crane should get in beside her. Doors were shut, sirens wailed, and they raced through the streets toward Sleepy Hollow General.

Abbie held his hand tightly. "B-betrothed, huh?" She managed to huff out a small laugh.

"Easy, sweetheart," he said, glancing up to see if either of the paramedics had noticed. They were too busy. "Stay still," he cautioned her, trying to smile--he could feel the tears beginning to form and blinked quickly so she wouldn't see them. "Stay with me."

"That's the plan," she said foggily, and then they were at the hospital emergency room.

They wheeled her into the x-ray area immediately. Ichabod tried to follow her in, and was told there was no room in the technician's booth. There was little room in the hallway, but he paced back and force in six feet of space, his hands clenching and unclenching nervously. He checked his phone again. He had texted Hulda as soon as he had ascertained the name of the hospital; she was to meet him there.

Jenny beat her. "Crane!"

"What--" he looked up in surprise. "Jenny? How--" He immediately felt horribly guilty. He had forgotten Abbie's own sister in all the confusion.

"Frank called me," she answered. "How is she?"

A young woman with a clipboard approached them. "Family of Grace Mills?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow at Crane.

"Yes--yes," he answered quickly, before Jenny could say anything. "This is her sister, and I'm her betrothed." The look Jenny shot him would have made him blush under normal circumstances. But he had no time for blushes.

"Ah." The woman looked at Jenny. "It's your call, as next of kin. He's welcome to stay if it's all right with you."

"Yes, of course," Jenny said impatiently. "How is she?"

"Better than we'd hoped," the young doctor smiled. "Lacerations, contusions. Her wrist is fractured, as well as her pelvis, but that'll just take time. And rest. *Complete* rest," she gave Ichabod a knowing look. "Apart from that, though, we --" The sound of a commotion carried from down the hall. 

"I'm sorry, Doctor... what did you say your name was?"

A familiar russet head came around the corner. Hulda wore a lab coat, glasses, and an air of untouchable confidence. "Nonsense," she said authoritatively to the two men in scrubs following her. "Miss Mills is a personal friend and patient and I *will* be attending her today." She pinned the men with a look and they subsided; from where Ichabod stood he could feel the edge of a glamour charm, cutting through the air like a whip.

"Of course, Doctor. Yes, of course." They backed away, suddenly eager to please as a pair of golden retrievers.

Everything caught up with Ichabod at once, and he dropped into a nearby chair, sinking his face in his hands. Abbie wasn't hurt fatally--and nothing Hulda couldn't fix, no paralysis or terrible burns of the magnitude that would require something like her grandfather's immortality clause to repair. And Hulda was here. Everything was going to be fine.

He heard himself sob once, and felt Jenny's hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Crane," she said, her voice unusually soft. "Everything's going to be fine."

Hulda touched his hair, lightly, sending him a small boost; and then Abbie was wheeled past and she followed the gurney, one hand already on Abbie's forehead.

"C'mon, Crane," Jenny said, grabbing his arm and hauling him roughly to his feet. He followed her, wiping ineffectually at his eyes.

The young woman with the clipboard was back. "If' you'll come with me, we're admitting Miss Mills for observation. I'll take you to her room."

Hulda was already there, as expected, glancing up with a smile as the pair entered the room. Abbie held up her hand as soon as she saw Crane: thumb and forefinger and pinky extended, the other two fingers tucked into her palm. 

"I'm all right," the lieutenant murmured. She glanced up at Hulda, who grinned and beckoned to the young doctor with the clipboard. "I'm writing orders for a new set of xrays," they could hear her say as she led the woman out of the room.

Ichabod took her hand, kissing it, tears of pure relief running down his face again.

"Stop, Ichabod, I'm fine. Not even a bruise left," Abbie squeezed his hand. "No more running into exploding funhouses, I promise."

He cupped her face and kissed her, then straightened up, letting Jenny past as he tried to gather his scattered dignity.

"You've got more lives than a cat," Jenny said, reaching down to give her a hug. "Is this one of the perks to being a witness? I should apply." She gave her sister a half-smile.

"Perk of knowing the right people," Abbie corrected her with a smile. "Hulda's touch is pretty magical. God, I'm tired," she yawned. "I hope they send me home soon."

"Why don't you rest, Sweetheart," Ichabod said, his voice still a little thick. "It will probably take Hulda some time to organize everything."

Abbie nodded, her eyes already closing. "I can probably catch a quick... nap..."

Jenny and Ichabod slipped out of the room, and Ichabod sank down in one of the chairs by the door.

"Betrothed, huh?" Jenny smiled, arching an exquisite eyebrow. She sounded exactly like Abbie.

Ichabod gave a damp chuckle. "It was the only way they would let me in the ambulance. And I would NOT let her go without me. ...I apologize, Miss Jenny," he added as she took the chair next to him. "I should not have neglected to call you."

She shrugged. "You were pretty upset. And the person you called was the person who could save her." She smiled at him. "Thanks for that."

000

Two hours later, shadows were gathering outside and sunset was slanting through the hospital windows. Hulda came into Abbie's room and sat on the arm of Ichabod's chair. "Boy. You mundanes sure do love the paperwork. *But*," she held up a sheaf of white with a flourish, "she's officially discharged. Go home." She regarded her cousin with a grin. "And just to be clear, she's *fine*. Not fragile, so no need for you to court death by treating her that way." The redhead got to her feet. "And I'm going to get out of here before somebody thinks to check my credentials." With a glowing smile and a kiss for Ichabod's forehead, she left.

Jenny got up and stretched. "C'mon, Abs. Let's get some *real* clothes on you. Crane can wait in the hall. ...Unless he wants to stay...?" she added archly.

Ichabod blushed and left the room.

Abbie grabbed her sister's hand and gave her a grateful smile as she helped her from the bed. "Thanks. Ugh," she added, "I do *not* relish putting those clothes back on."

"You're lucky, then, that I keep spares in my car," Jenny answered, reaching into her messenger bag and handing her sweatpants and a t-shirt. "I got the baggiest, shortest stuff I could find," she added, and dodged Abbie's avenging smack.

"Soooo..." she went on, as Abbie slipped into the bathroom to change. "When are you going to update your status?"

Abbie returned, holding a lock of hair to her nose. "Gross, my hair smells like C-4. Update my what now?"

"Your relationship status. On Facebook. From single to 'in a relationship'." She did air quotes. "...Does Crane even HAVE a Facebook?"

Abbie cracked up. "No, can you imagine? 'Miss Mills, I have received yet another *friend request* from a person to whom I have not been *properly introduced*. Your generation has taken the art of friendship and reduced it to its component parts, resulting in announcing the most commonplace drivel as though it were of momentous import.'" She slanted her sister a glance. "But yeah, I'll update mine."

Jenny crossed her arms, clearly satisfied with her powers of observation. "When did *this* happen? ...And when were you planning on *telling* me?" she added, with an edge of annoyance to her voice.

"Yesterday, so give me a break." Abbie chuckled. "I was... *busy*."

"Uh-huh. I can imagine. How did they *do* it in the eighteenth century?" she added innocently. "Did he make you wear a powdered wig?"

Abbie laughed again, swatting at her. "You're a *jerk*, and just for that you get no deets." She gave Jenny a mischievous look. "I'll tell you this, though - he's not *all* decorum. Come on, let's get out of here."

The three of them went to dinner together, although Jenny turned down Abbie's invitation back to her place for coffee. "I'll give you guys... some a-LONE time," she said knowingly. She waved and hopped into her new truck. It was just like her old one--loud and smelly. It roared as she drove away.

"Irving gave me the next three days off," Abbie said, seemingly apropos of nothing as they got in her car. "I think Hulda bullied him."

"She is a force of nature," Ichabod agreed. "Can we go to the cabin?" he added. "So that I may gather some clothing. To keep at your house."

"We can go wherever you like," she said magnificently. "I have had a nap, I have a few days off, and I have the man I love beside me. I am ready for *anything*." She put the car in gear and headed toward the outskirts of town.

000

Ichabod gathered up some clothing and necessary toiletries. "Before we return to your home, Abbie, would you like to take a stroll?" he suggested.

She smiled up at him. "Sure, it's a nice evening."

He kissed her fingers and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

They walked down to the edge of the lake. The moon was bright--nearly full--and the fireflies were winking in the woods around them.

Abbie sighed. "Mmm. This is nice. What's that scent, honeysuckle?"

"I believe so," he answered. The water of the lake lapped against the timbers of the dock with a soothing sound. "A lovely night--but not nearly so lovely as the woman on my arm." He smiled down at her.

"I bet you say that to all the police lieutenants."

He laughed. "As all the police lieutenants in my century were *men*, I can assure you, that is NOT the case."

She poked him in the chest, playfully. "I remember seeing you in that cell for the first time - you were so *thrown* by my rank, and trying so hard not to show it."

He smiled out across the lake. "You have been extraordinarily patient with me, dear one." He turned to face her, the breeze stirring his hair. "My dearest friend." He took her hand once more, held it between both of his. "I know that you prefer not to go by your first name, but it is perfect for you. 'Grace.' Your presence in my life is a blessing I could never have earned."

Abbie was nearly speechless. "Why, Cra -- Ichabod." She blinked quickly to stem the tears that threatened. "That's the nicest... what a nice thing to say."

"I mean every word of it," he said, touching her face with his long fingers. "My dearest love." He bent and kissed her.

She winnowed her fingers into his hair, holding him close, her body relaxing into his hold. "I love you. SO much. I have, since..." She looked down. "Well, a long time."

He smiled, then tilted his head, thinking. His eyes took on a faraway look.

"Where'd you go?" Her voice was soft.

He focused on her again, a smile of wonder spreading across his face. "I have spent so long believing that what happened to me--sleeping through all those years--was a terrible curse. I have asked God over and over why he allowed it to happen to me." His arms tightened around her. "Now I have my answer. If I had died then--I should never have met you." Tears stood in his eyes.

Now she really was speechless. Abbie looked at him - that impossibly handsome, dearly beloved face, and stroked her fingertips along his cheek. "Crane," she finally managed, breathless. "Let's... can we stay here tonight? Suddenly I don't want to waste time driving back to my place when home... is right here." A provocative smile lifted her lips, lit her eyes. "So...ever been skinny dipping?"

"Have I... what?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now begin the disjointed clips. lol

Abbie and Ichabod pulled in behind them. "Good evening," Ichabod said, walking with the Lieutenant to the front door.

Zohar was on a roll. "My dear cousin," he replied, his Crane-speak pretty spot-on, "you are ever welcome at our humble board. Lieutenant," with an exaggerated 'f' in the middle, "you are radiant, as always."

Hulda rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Zo. Hi guys, come on in."

Ichabod smirked. "My dear sir," he said with an overdone flourish, "from what part of Britannia do you hail? Your accent is... unusual."

Faolan started laughing. "He's got you, Toasty!"

In response Zohar began whistling a jig. "Faaaaaaiiith and begorra, whist ye now to that sweet lilt of Eire. 'Tis the green in yer very blood, me old son; sure and I might call round for a céilí, just to hear the dulcet tones of me homeland," he squeaked in a ridiculous, high-pitched voice, and dodged out of the room.

"Come back here, you--" Faolan chased him out. They heard the back screen door slam.

"Good heavens, it's the Williamite War all over again," Ichabod said mildly, giving Hulda a peck on the cheek.

"Welcome to my life," she replied with a grin, and took the wooden bowl that Abbie carried. "Ichabod, can you reach down the wine glasses while I find the corkscrew?"

"Hi, Nat," Abbie said. "You look great! I take it you're all recovered from the field trip?"

Natalie smiled. "Yep. The kids are almost fawning over Angela--we might have to have a classroom talk soon." She laughed.

"IT WAS THE DUTCH! IT WAS THE DUTCH!" Faolan came back in, with Zohar's head tucked neatly into his elbow, giving the redhead a noogie as he dragged him back into the kitchen, chanting. "D'YE TINK IT WAS THE IRISH HOLLARED HELP? NOT MUCH! IT WAS THE DUTCH!"

Hulda giggled. "Wine or whiskey, my wild Irish rose?"

Zohar howled in protest. "Hulda! Where's your Dutch pride?"

"I infinitely prefer Dutch courage," she returned, sipping her wine. "And I cannot lie: I absolutely *love* the Irish... man in this room. Wine or whiskey, geliefde?"

"Irish whiskey!" he cheered. "No, I'm kidding: wine." He grinned and let Zohar go. "Let's eat; I'm starving."

000

The uniformed officer dropped Crane at his front door, giving him a wave as he drove away. Ichabod noted Abbie’s car in the drive, as he’d expected – she was to meet him here – and with some surprise, Zohar’s as well. He mounted the steps to the cabin porch, pausing at the sound of voices.

“That’s it, just like that. Nice and easy.” Abbie’s voice was low and somewhat breathless.

“Okay, okay,” replied Zohar, somewhat muffled. “Good girl, good… that’s right, pretty girl. Just…” He grunted. “That’s it, Abbie. That’s just… about… got it…”

“Wait, wait, Zo, that’s not… it’s stuck… OW!”

“Stop wriggling!”

“Easy for you to say!” Abbie groaned. “I *knew * I should’ve waited for Crane, he’s thinner than you are. He wouldn't've gotten it *stuck*.”

“Well he wasn’t here, and you… dammit, Abbie, just stop moving. I can’t get it out if you keep…”

A third voice chimed in: Natalie. “Would you guys just hurry *up*? I want to see!”

Crane knocked tentatively at the door, almost afraid of what he might see inside. His mind was painting surreal pictures.

Natalie looked up from where she was sitting at the table and waved him in. "It's your place, Ichabod, why are you knocking?" The trap door that led to the pipes under the kitchen floor was open, and the pretty blonde was peering in. "Hey, you guys, Ichabod's here!"

More grunts from under the floorboards. "Crane," said Zohar from the depths, "can you grab this? Abbie, stop *moving*!"

The lieutenant's voice floated up from below, irritated beyond measure. "I swear, van Tassel, I am going to get my *gun* and shoot you in the *face*."

"Please, no violence under my house," Ichabod said, crouching down by the trap door. "It would be a terrible mess to clean up. What are you *doing*?"

The edge of a strange wire box hove into view, and inside were three squirming objects, in shades of black, gray and orange.

"Kittens," supplied Natalie. "Trapped under the house. Aw, look!"

Ichabod reached down and took the cage carefully from Zohar's hands, setting it down on the floor. "Are there any more?" he asked.

"Nope," Zoey's head popped out, dusty and full of cobwebs. "Just the three, two girls and a boy. Congratulations, Crane." climbed out and stuck his head back down. "Need some help, Abs?"

There was a pause. "I'm kind of... stuck, still."

Ichabod quickly lowered himself into the hole. "Abbie?"

Abbie grimaced up at him. "Can you get me a towel or something?" she hissed. "My pants are kind of..." She gestured behind her, and sure enough, there was a LOT more of the lieutenant on display than usual, and her jeans were hung up on a jagged piece of wire.

Ichabod suppressed a smile. "Let us free you first," he suggested, and set to work on the delicate job of disentangling her clothing from the wire. In half a minute his dexterous fingers had freed the thick material. "Can you move now?"

"Yes, thank you. Stop laughing, Crane, and get me something to cover my ass with," she said dryly.

He smiled. "Could someone fetch a bath towel from the linen cupboard?" he called up into the kitchen.

Zohar, rinsing his head under the kitchen faucet, burst out laughing. Natalie obligingly got the towel and handed it down to Ichabod.

"Thank you, *Miss Richards*," Ichabod said pointedly, and draped it over Abbie's backside.

"Thanks," Abbie smiled at him. "Consider yourself kissed; I am covered in dirt. Are the kittens okay?" She struggled out of the trap door, trying to keep the towel in place.

"A little dirty," Natalie reported, "and a little skinny, but they look alright. Do you think they're weaned?"

"I hope so," the lieutenant returned, "because no sign of Mom to be found. I'm going to go shower and find a whole pair of pants - back in a minute."

Zohar raised a brow at Crane but didn't say anything, instead bending to examine the kittens. "Hey, pretty babies," he crooned, sticking his finger between the wires of the box.

Crane closed the trap door and made sure it was securely latched. "Are they tame?" he asked.

Zohar glanced up at him over his glasses. "Too little to be anything but." He dampened a couple of paper towels and took the kittens out of the trap one by one, wiping them down and handing one each to Nat and Ichabod. "Cute little critters. Hey buddy," he said to the little orange boy in his lap.

Ichabod held one of the small balls of fur against his chest and stroked its head with one long finger.

The tiny creature closed its eyes and rumbled softly. Abbie came out of the bedroom, freshly dressed, hair wet, and checked at the sight of Crane with a kitten. "Oh, boy," she muttered. "If he wasn't dangerous enough before, give the man a helpless creature and he's downright lethal. Are we keeping it?" she asked him, finger-combing her hair.

"Would you like to?" he asked, looking up at her.

Abbie shrugged. "Never had a pet before, but... well, it's your call. I kind of hate the idea of giving them to a shelter."

Natalie scootched over to Zohar's side, holding the gray kitten. Zohar booped it on the nose. "She's almost as pretty as you are."

Ichabod stroked the black kitten's chin and it laid its head back, blissed out. He had had barn cats before, but people in his time generally did not keep cats as pets like they did with dogs or birds. And there was also the question of who would care for it when he stayed at Abbie's house.

Abbie was thinking aloud. "I guess we could put a litter pan in the second bathroom for when it's - she's - at my place, and just tell Jenny to watch her step when she stays over. What are we naming it?"

"Hey, Arwen," Zohar was rubbing the little gray one's jaw. "And this one can be Legolas, how about that?" He grinned at Natalie. "Seems to be a theme."

Natalie smiled back. "They've got pointy ears," she agreed.

Ichabod thought for a moment, looking down at the kitten, which was now falling asleep in his hands. "Evelina," he suggested, naming the heroine of one of his favorite novels.

Abbie smiled and traced a gentle finger between the little black creature's ears. "Evelina. Pretty." Her eyes met Ichabod's for a moment, their expression unexpectedly tender, though she merely said, "I guess we need to hit up the pet store. And find a vet."


	4. Chapter 4

Her feet up as per Crane's orders, Abbie lounged on the sofa at the cabin while surfing the web for any mention of the funhouse. There'd been something off about that whole experience, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Irving had signed off on it and the case was officially closed, but... well, It couldn't hurt to look.

A small rumble from across the room caught her attention, and she looked up to see Evelina parade across the table in front of Crane, her little flag flying high as she rubbed herself luxuriously on his beard. Abbie smiled. "I don't blame you, Evelina. It's *my* favorite face too. And I would totally do what you're doing if he'd let me."

He laughed. "My dear, you only have to ask." He came over to sit on the edge of the couch and leaned over to kiss her.

She folded up the computer and climbed onto his lap, and then laughed when the kitten joined them, making bread on Ichabod's knee. "Clearly I have competition."

"Come here, Evie," Ichabod said, picking the kitten up and placing her on the floor. "Now where were we?" he smiled at Abbie.

The lieutenant looped her arms around Crane's neck. "You were about to make mad, passionate love to me," she murmured in his ear, biting his lobe gently. "At least I hope you were."

"Who am I to disappoint a lady's hopes?" he replied, and turned his head to kiss her deeply.

Things were reaching a *very* interesting juncture when Abbie's phone suddenly went off. "No," she said aloud, holding Crane in place. "No, no, not *now*!" She pressed her mouth to Ichabod's, hoping the phone would spontaneously combust or something.

It didn't. Crane picked it up and spared a glance to see who was calling. "The Captain," he said, drawing back.

She sighed and took it from him. "Yes, Captain?" There was a pause. "Yes, sir. We'll be right there." Abbie fell back on the couch, looking up at Ichabod, disappointment all over her face. "Raincheck?"

"Of course." He gave her a kiss and fetched his coat.

Evelina mewed piteously from the floor.

Abbie looked at the kitten, hesitating, and then scooped her up. "Oh, what the hell. You can hang out with Wendy, maybe." She handed the cat to Crane. "Let's go."

000

"Mills. Crane. ...And a kitten," Irving said dryly as they strode into the station. 

"Yes. Pardon--one moment," Crane said uncomfortably, and handed Evelina off to Wendy, who squealed with joy. "My apologies," he said, coming back.

The captain looked from one partner to the other. "Let's just *never* do anything by the book, okay?" He shook his head, exasperated. "Got a weird one for you, down in holding."  
...

000

...  
They spent a couple of hours in the archive, mostly trying to keep Evelina out of trouble. With nothing concrete to go on, Abbie became restless and eventually suggested they return to the cabin. Crane still looked a little shell-shocked, and that was not a state of affairs she intended to allow to continue.

Early evening found them in the living room in front of a small fire, an open bottle of rum on the coffee table. "Talk to me, Crane," Abbie said, moving a lock of hair from his temple. "Ichabod. Talk to me."

"What do you want me to say, /ma belle/?" he asked, hugging her to his side.

She studied his face. "That you know what it is they're doing. Whoever 'they' are," she added with a small huff of laughter. "Anybody wants to get to us, they know just how to do it. And I need to know you get that. And that it isn't... it doesn't mean anything except that they're pushing buttons."

"I know, my love," he said, kissing her brow. "I was less upset by his... prophecy of my death than by his mention of my son."

She snuggled close. "It's still a button, no matter what it's labeled. As for his 'prophecy'... I *do* adore you, I *would* sacrifice for you, and I *will* worship at your temple if I choose. And nobody is pulling anything down, not on my watch." Abbie grinned. "Or Hulda's. *Not* someone you want to get on the wrong side of." She leaned forward for a moment, pouring a tot of rum into each glass and handing him one. "Do you remember Roanoke?"

He chuckled. "How could I forget?"

"I learned a lot about myself that day," she mused, sipping the rum. "I loved you, even then, though all I really knew was that the idea of being without you... it terrified me. And then again, when that jerk Rutledge decided to play God, I thought, nothing could be worse than this. Nothing." Abbie sighed. "Even Zohar figured it out, Crane. You and I... we're each other's greatest weakness." She smiled up at him. "But the secret is: we're each other's greatest strength, too."

He bent his head to kiss her. "I have a biblical quotation of my own," he murmured. "Kiss me with the kisses of thy mouth: for thy love is better than wine."

"Sweet-talker." Abbie smiled, put the rum down, and swung a leg over Crane's lap to straddle him, curling her fingers into the collar of his shirt. She bent to him, her mouth a breath away from his. "His mouth is sweetness itself; he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, this is my friend."

He kissed her deeply. "Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled," he breathed against her mouth.

"I love you, Ichabod Crane." She reached down and tugged his shirt from his trousers. "So damn much."

000

000

Abbie kissed a preoccupied Ichabod on the head and dialed her phone as she left the archives. "Coffee, on me?" she asked when her sister picked up.

"Sure, if you're paying!"

"Just call me Ms. Moneybags," laughed Abbie. "Starbucks on Main, see you in a few."

Jenny was already inside staring up at the menu when Abbie arrived. "So many choices. Gotta pick the most expensive one," she said with a smile.

"Go for it," Abbie grinned back, and placed her order. She snagged a booth at the end of the row and sat down.

Jenny joined her in a minute. "So how's Ichabod?" she asked, her wiggling eyebrows indicating the double entente.

Abbie laughed and shook her head. "How are those subtlety lessons working out for you?"

"Oh, when I *want* to use subtlety, I will." Jenny leaned back in her seat.

"So that's 'never', then, is it?" Abbie laughed again. "All right. I will answer *one* question about Crane and me. *One.* Make it count."

Jenny narrowed her eyes, considering carefully. "Do you love him?" she asked at last, surprisingly serious.

Abbie's smile took on a softer quality. "Yes, very much. And that's your one." She sipped at her coffee and looked at Jenny thoughtfully. "How are you doing?"

...

Jenny nodded. "So. Anything else exciting happen at work lately?" she asked, forcing a brighter tone.

Abbie gave her a small smile. "Oh, you know. Paperwork, magic, saving the world. The usual." She chuckled. "And I've got competition on the Crane front. You've met her."

"What? Who?" Jenny leaned in.

"The kitten. Come on over to the archives and I'll introduce you." She got up from the booth and beckoned. "You should see Crane with her - he's well on the way to being wrapped around her tiny tail, though he'd never admit it. On balance, she *is* pretty cute."

When Jenny and Abbie walked into the archives, Jenny had to bite her lips to keep from laughing. Ichabod was sitting in one of the strange, throne-like chairs, reading. The kitten was curled up on his shoulder.

Her sister sent her a 'told you so' look and cleared her throat. "Good book?"

Ichabod looked up. "Shh!" he warned them. But it was too late. Evelina yawned hugely and stretched, digging her tiny claws into his collarbone. He winced.

Abbie gave a soft laugh and went to detach the kitten from his shoulder. "I know somebody who needs to have her claws clipped." She held out the tiny bundle of fur to Jenny. "Meet Evelina."

"Well, aren't you the cutest little thing?" Jenny cooed as she picked up the kitten. Ichabod raised his eyebrows in surprise at this uncharacteristic tenderness. "Yes, you are! Mmmyes." She rubbed her under the chin.

...

Hulda grinned. "Wow, it's Grand Central Station around here. Jenny, you haven't met Faolan yet, have you?"

"He's the one who's the werewolf, right?" she said excitedly.

"The very one." Hulda went to the door to greet him.

"Hello, love!" he said, pulling her immediately into a hug and kissing her satisfyingly. "Mmm. How was your day?"

"Better now," she replied with a smile. "We've got some company, geliefde. This is Abbie's sister, Jenny."

"Ah. How do you do?" he shook her hand.

"Pleased to meet you," she answered, her eyes bright with excitement.

Abbie went up on tiptoe to peck the handsome Irishman on the cheek. "Been a little while, Professor," she smiled. "Everything going well?"

He put his arm around her waist. "Great. Trying to drill some history into my students' heads before midterms. And what have you all been up to?"

Hulda lifted her brows. "I think this might call for some rum. Anybody?"

Her guests all nodded, and they sat down at the table for liquid refreshment and explanations. Jenny seemed to only be half paying attention; she kept glancing at Faolan. Abbie finally nudged her. "You're being rude," she said under her breath.

"Oh. Sorry, I just... Faolan, could I ask you a question?"

He raised his eyebrows in query, but there was a faint smile in his eyes--he had an inkling what was coming.

"I hope this isn't rude, but... would you mind half-turning? I'm just really curious to see what that looks like."

Faolan suddenly lurched forward, half-turning and smacking the table with a snarl. They all jumped in alarm. The smile turned into a pointy-toothed grin and he laughed--a truly disturbing sight. "Your faces!" he chortled.

Hulda hid a grin and drifted her fingers over his shoulder. "Horrible man," she said affectionately.

Abbie downed her rum. "Crap, MacKenna, give a girl some warning."

Jenny was biting her lower lip with excitement. "That was AWESOME," she said, sounding like one of Natalie's fourth-graders.

Faolan made a slight bow and shifted back, still grinning.


	5. Chapter 5

And in a minute Crane did, swinging the door wide. "I believe I--" He stopped and stared at Zohar. "Good heavens. What are you meant to be?"

Zoey cackled, petting the beard. "Eventually, Gandalf. Tell me you've read the Lord of the Rings. Or at least seen the movies. Great beard, isn't it?" He looked at Crane appraisingly. "You look like an ice cream cone. Are you actually going to the party as a guy from the 18th century? That's kind of cheating, don't you think?"

Crane's eyes twinkled. "Well, as our small group will be the only ones who will KNOW that, I think this costume will be seem quite impressive to the rest of the guests."

To be fair, Crane *had* dressed up for Hulda's traditional Halloween open-house. He wore a pair of dark blue silk knee-breeches, a highly-embroidered [tailcoat] to match and an equally ornate waistcoat. Lace cuffs peeked out from his sleeves and his cravat was perfectly tied, if he said so himself. He had curled the hair on the sides of his head with the help of the electric curling tongs Hulda had introduced him to, and had powdered his hair. He completed the costume with a pair of buckled shoes, a tricorn hat, a greatcoat, and a dress sword.

"Come to think of it," Ichabod mused as he locked the door and headed toward Zohar's car, "are you not a wizard dressing as a wizard?"

"Details. At least *I* have a beard. Guess what Kibbles is going as." Zohar shook his head in mock despair.

000

At Hulda's house, Abbie was looking at Jonesy in disbelief. "Are you kidding?"

The trim executive, who was dressed as Mary Poppins, shrugged. "You're the one who wanted the authentic costume. No panties, and we're going to have to lace the corset tighter if you want that dress to fit." She checked her phone. "Now, actually. They'll be arriving any minute."

"Oh my God," said Abbie, turning around. She pulled her underwear off under the chemise she was wearing and then braced herself. "All right. Do your worst."

Jonesy grinned. "I always do." There was a yell from down the hall, which made her laugh. "And Hulda's got her costume on."

The pretty witch strode into the room indignantly, clad in a mostly-zipped black leather catsuit which fit marginally tighter than her own skin. "You might have warned me, Jonesy."

"Where would be the fun in that, Black Widow? You're laced," she added to Abbie, who was panting slightly. Jonesy adjusted the panniers that went over the corset and then helped her into the dress, a gorgeous, square-necked, low-cut concoction of ruffles and lace that would have sent any actual woman from the 18th century into paroxysms of joy. The lieutenant had decided that this Halloween she wanted to sample Crane's time; and if she thought it might excite him to see her gussied up in the styles he'd thought were hot in his day, well, that was a bonus. Her hair was up, curled and piled and powdered white (privately Abbie shuddered at the thought of washing it later); her neck and arms were draped in a sparkling parure that she devoutly hoped wasn't real but knowing Hulda, was afraid to ask.

The super-tight corseting and the lack of undergarments were a different kind of bonus, and Abbie wasn't any too sure about whether they were positive or not. Crane's response might be worth it, though. 

Hulda's was pretty good. She let out a low whistle. "You stay up here, Abbie. I'll call you when Ichabod is appropriately situated to fully appreciate your efforts."

000

When Ichabod and Zohar reached Hulda's house, Faolan met them at the door with a sharp-toothed grin. He was half-turned, wearing a red flannel shirt, jeans and work boots, with a pair of fingerless gloves to which he had attached some fake hair.   
"A werewolf, Faolan?" Natalie said, climbing up the porch steps behind them. "Seriously?"

Zohar spun at the sound of Natalie's voice, forgetting all about his bizarre appearance. "Wow, look at you. You look fantastic, sweetheart." He bent to give her a rather beardy kiss.

She returned the kiss, then made a face, her eyes twinkling. "Ptha, ptha. I got fake beard in my mouth." She was dressed as a fairy, with a filmy dress in several shades of blue, a pair of sparkling wings, and a wand. "You need to change, Zoey! People will be arriving soon! And YOU," she said, looking at Faolan, "are *cheating*."

"That is what Zohar said to me," Ichabod said, offering her his arm.

Hulda was waiting as they came through the door. She swatted Zoey. "Go put your costume on, Dumbledore."

"Gandalf!" he protested. 

"Same thing. You look lovely, Natalie. And you two," she eyed Crane and Faolan, "cheated. But you look good." Hulda's lips twitched in a suppressed smile.

Jonesy slid serenely down the banister, sidesaddle, and hopped off at the bottom. "Gentlemen, miss," she nodded at them without turning a hair and went to stand by Nat.

"Good Lord, woman," Faolan said, leaning in to give her a kiss. Shouldn't you have waited to wear that outfit until AFTER the guests had left?"

Hulda rubbed her gloved hands together. "Best costume of the night, coming up. Abbie?" she called. The others looked up the stairs expectantly; Hulda watched Crane, biting her lip in anticipation.

The vision that appeared in response to her summons could not possibly have been Lt. Abbie Mills, Sleepy Hollow PD. Elegant, tiny, polished, sparkling, she came down the stairs one at a time, her hand lightly on the banister, the other playing with the ruffle of her neckline coquettishly.

Ichabod's mouth fell open. Natalie nudged him and he moved to the bottom of the stairs like a sleepwalker.

Behind his back, Hulda raised her hand; Jonesy high-fived it silently, her expression veering toward smug.

Abbie held out her own hand, small and slim and beautifully tapered. "Mr. Crane," she said softly, eyelashes lowering.

He took it and sank into a deep bow, sweeping off his hat and pressing his lips to her fingers.

Hulda had to bite her knuckles to keep from squealing. Hastily she beckoned the rest to leave the two alone, and there was a bit of a muddle in the doorway as everybody tried to leave at once. After a confused and whispery moment, they shut the kitchen door behind them, leaving Crane and Abbie alone at the bottom of the stairs.

Abbie's lips curved in a smile. "You look very handsome, Mr. Crane," she said demurely.

"And you... are breathtaking." His eyes were shining.

She revolved slowly before him, letting him see the full effect. "I'm told it's authentic." There was mischief in her gaze as she looked at him over her shoulder.

"Perfectly." He wasn't looking at the dress. "I am going to do a very ungallant thing," he warned her.

"I can't imagine you being ungallant."

"Well, I am about to be." He lifted her chin with a gentle finger. "I am going to kiss a lady at a genteel gathering." He bent and fulfilled his promise.

She cupped his face and returned his kiss, smiling as they broke apart. "You know if you hadn't, I'd have been deeply disappointed. I learned something new today," she added, eyes sparkling.

"Oh?"

Abbie chuckled. "A practical lesson in what ladies of the 18th century did and did not wear under their dresses. I'm sure you're familiar with the subject. Something for you to think about until we get home." She gave him a flirtatious glance and sailed into the living room.

Ichabod took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then followed her.

000

The entire Richards family also made an appearance. Caden and Zach were completely in awe of Faolan, who quickly made friends with them and was giving them rides on his shoulders in very short order. When not asking Faolan if they could see his teeth, they were asking Crane if they could see his sword.

Abbie was beginning to flag a bit; the corset was *tight* and the room was warm, and the shoes were none too feet-friendly. She gathered her skirts and made some excuses, heading for the cooler air outside, beyond the deck. 

The farm looked very different in the moonlight. Still a beautiful property, but with an edge of mystery, or maybe that was just the time of year. Abbie headed for Hulda's garden: there was a bench there where she could sit without compromising her skirts, and maybe catch her breath.

"May I join you, Madam?" Ichabod said as she took a seat. He had followed her outside.

She smiled up at him and patted the seat beside her. "If you can find a place under all this dress."

He chuckled as he wrapped his greatcoat around her shoulders to ward off the chilly autumn air, and sat beside her. "It is a lovely night," he observed.

"My favorite time of year," she agreed, and winced slightly. "I have to give the ladies of your time credit, Crane - they wore this stuff all the time, didn't they? I've been in it a couple of hours and I'm *dying*."

"Perhaps your corset is too tight?" he suggested.

"Is that an offer to help loosen it?" She gave him one of those flirty glances again.

He laughed. "Certainly, if you like."

Abbie laughed with him. "Honestly I think Jonesy would kill me; I might breathe too deeply and tear the dress. I'll be fine. I think." She shifted inside the dress. "Whoever invented this stuff missed his calling as a torturer, though. And what is with the panniers? My butt isn't big *enough*, we have to put a cage on it?"

He chuckled. "You must have ordered too small a size. Corsets were not worn uncomfortably tight. The panniers I am afraid I cannot explain. You should have seen court dresses. The panniers were sometimes as wide as five or six feet across. Ladies had to turn sideways to walk through doors."

"Jonesy did it," Abbie said darkly. "She got Hulda's too small, too - she's going to have to be peeled out of that thing like a banana. *And* she made me take off my --" well, that was probably something she didn't need to actually announce out loud, just in case anyone else was hovering about. "I'll get her back, see if I don't."

"Want my sword?"

Abbie looked at him in surprise, and then threw back her head and laughed, gasping for air. "That is *such* a loaded question, Crane." She went off in another peal of laughter. "The answer is yes, absolutely, as soon as we get home." Abbie wiped tears from her cheeks, still chuckling.

Even in the dark she could see that he was blushing, but he laughed, as well. "That wasn't what I meant," he chuckled, "and well you know it."

"Shame," she replied saucily. "I was looking forward to it. Oh, I think that actually loosened things up a bit. Clever you." She leaned back against him. " I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you. Apart from your skill with a sword." 

He laughed.

Abbie tilted her head back and lifted a hand to stroke his cheek. "I think I need to go powder my nose. Will you be here when I get back?"

"Of course, my lady." He kissed her palm.

She got up and dusted off her skirts, just about as tall standing as he was sitting down, which could have been an interesting development if she wasn't as wide as a barn at the moment. Abbie merely smiled at him. "I like being 'my lady'. But on the whole I think I prefer 'my love'. See you in a bit."

Crane gazed out across the garden for a moment, enjoying the sound of the breeze in the leaves.

He frowned. There was no wind. So why were there leaves rustling?

Without warning a snarling whirlwind erupted from the treeline, tackling Crane to the ground. His attacker grasped Ichabod around the throat, slamming his head on the ground hard enough to make his ears ring. "The blood SINGS!" the man growled, slavering, and lifted his fisted hands high, an iron crowbar clenched tight between them.

Ichabod reacted on instinct, rolling away just in time. The crowbar thunked onto the earth. 

Ichabod scrambled to his feet and backed out of reach. "Tommy!" he gasped, recognizing Faolan and Zohar's friend. "What are you doing?"

Tommy was panting hard, wheezing between breaths. "The bl - the blood, your blood... s - sings..." He took another swing with the crowbar. "She is coming – the Sword is coming. The days hasten!" An unintelligible growl and Tommy was on him again.

Ichabod caught the crowbar with one hand as Tommy swung it through the air at him, and kicked his attacker in the chest, knocking him backward. He drew his sword.

Abbie was halfway back tot he house when she heard... was that grunting? As though... as though... Her eyes grew wide - she knew the sound of fighting when she heard it. She spun, lifting her skirts, and ran back toward the garden. "Crane? CRANE!"

"Stay back, Abbie!" Ichabod cautioned her.

She would have ignored him but in her haste Abbie had tried to jump over the curved branches Hulda used to edge her beds, and was struggling with her mountain of a dress. "Dammit DAMMIT!" Abbie lifted two fingers to her mouth and emitted a piercing whistle, loud enough to make the combatants flinch. There was one person at the party with excellent hearing, she knew. She threw back her head and screamed. "FAOLAN!"

Tommy lunged at Crane once more and Crane parried his crowbar, retreating quickly out of reach. Tommy raised his weapon high and charged at him with a guttural roar. Ichabod caught the bar on his blade, deflected it, and pinked Tommy neatly in the shoulder.

He fell back, staggered backward, clutching his arm, his expression confused. "I... I don't..." Tommy's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed on the ground.

Faolan bolted around the side of the house. "What's going on?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

She gestured at Ichabod and Tommy. "Your friend tried to kill Crane," Abbie explained breathlessly and gave a final tug. There was the sound of rending fabric, and she stumbled free, leaving about a third of the skirt behind. "Ichabod! Are you all right?"   
"Fine," he gasped, and hugged her to his side. 

Faolan knelt beside his apprentice. "Tommy? Tommy, wake up." He tapped his cheek.

Hulda came skidding into the area and gave a little jump before kneeling by Faolan, hands flaring. "What happened?"

000

In the car, Abbie stifled another yawn while Crane buckled himself in. "Cabin? My place? What's your pleasure?"

"Whatever you like, my love. But I shall have to shower to remove this hair powder."

Abbie smiled and took the exit for the cabin. "Your shower's bigger."

He raised an eyebrow with a smile, but didn't comment.

...

"What is wrong, /ma belle/?"

"Nothing, really. Me being weirdly insecure." Abbie got out of the car and locked it. "But you're feeling all right? You'd tell me if you weren't?"

"I am well. Truly." He reached for her hand as they walked toward the porch and kissed it before tucking it into his elbow. "And you have no reason to feel insecure."

Abbie chuckled and leaned against him as they walked. "I never said it was *rational*." She waited while he unlocked the door. "So you liked the costume? I hoped you would."

"I *loved* it," he answered. "I only wish it had not been so uncomfortable for you."

She shrugged and preceded him inside. "Beauty is pain. If that's what you thought was hot in your day, I'm willing to put up with it now and again. The look on your face was completely worth it." Abbie hummed softly to herself, giving a small shiver. "Mmm. You looked like you wanted to..." she trailed off in a soft laugh. "Do something *really* impolite in front of all our friends."

"Oh, I did," he answered, turning her around and pulling her suddenly into an ardent embrace.

Abbie put her arms around his neck and shook back her hair, looking up at him. "*How* impolite, exactly?"

"Let me demonstrate," he said throatily, and thrust his hand under her shirt.

"Oh," moaned Abbie, letting her head fall back, "that *is* rude." She took a moment to shuck her jacket, letting it fall to the floor. "I *like* it. Ichabod..."

"So do I," he agreed, and bent his powdered head to her breast.


	6. Chapter 6

"Ah, the beauteous Lieutenant Mills," came a voice from behind her, and Abbie found herself enveloped in an aura of extremely expensive masculinity. "And the beauteous Mr. Crane."

"Hi, Bruno," she said, giggling at his effusiveness.

Ichabod seemed to be hiding a smile. "Mr. Sforza. How good to see you again."

Bruno shook his hand good-naturedly, a twinkle in his eyes. "If you are extremely lucky, my friend, I will introduce you later to a supremely good bottle of port, which I happen to have brought with me on the chance that we would meet again. I seem to recall you said you had a taste for such things."

"Ah! Excellent." Ichabod looked gratified.

 

...

Faolan looked up at him in surprise, then gave him a half grin. "I'd kind of like to sit on a chair instead of the floor?" he suggested.

Bruno smiled, bowed, and brought over a pair of chairs; together he and Ichabod lifted Faolan into the one, propping his leg on the other. "You, my friend, are much heavier than you look," he observed mildly. "Must be all that muscle." He gave Faolan a friendly ogle and went after a few more chairs so Crane and Abbie could sit as well. "You see? Think of me as your personal genie. No rubbing necessary, although I assure you no objections would be raised. A drink, perhaps?"

"You're a miracle, Bruno. A drink would be great. And please join us," Abbie added. "I think you could use one as much as us."

Another bow, and a few short moments later, Bruno had cracked open the port he'd mentioned to Ichabod. "To new discoveries. And good friends," he passed out glasses of the ruby liquid.

"And to being the only damn mundanes at a magic party," Abbie added, and they drank it down.

"Mm, excellent port," Ichabod said, leaning his head back with a sigh. "Takes me right back to--" he brought himself up short. "England," he finished lamely.

Bruno raised a brow, but merely said, "I am glad you enjoy it. I take it I've found a home for the second bottle I purchased?" He grinned. "And here is our prodigal returned," as Hulda came in, looking for them. 

 

...

"Yes," Jenny said, staring hard into the middle distance. "And now maybe he brought it forth again." She looked at them. "The pneumata," she explained. "A gathering of pneumata is called a Legion. A Legion of War."

"So Legion has gathered because the Sword was coming, is that where we are? And this lamp we need..." Abbie trailed off.

"Jeremy," Ichabod said with a sigh. "Jeremy lit the lamp to gather the pneumata--to wake the Sword."

Bruno was enraptured, his chin propped on his fist. "Go on, I am fascinated. Jeremy, or Henry, has lit a magical lamp to gather Legion to prepare the way for the arrival of the Sword of War, who presumably is the harbinger of War itself. Am I to infer from this that we stand poised on the brink of the Apocalypse? And that you, my friends, are fighting on the side of humanity?" He nodded. "Where do I sign up?"

They all turned to stare at him.

Bruno shrugged one elegant shoulder. "If I can help, I will do it, merely for the pleasure of looking at your faces. Such beauty must always be defended, no?" He grinned at Crane. "And thus is my ulterior motive revealed. Carry on."

Hulda reached for his hand and squeezed it, her eyes filling.

Abbie took up the thread. "So we still need to track down this lamp, snuff it out."

"It's probably in the graveyard where his ancestors are buried," Jenny said. "Ichabod?"

"Well, clearly he did not raise the pneumata in England," Ichabod answered. "Katrina's family, then. But they were all buried in the old Dutch cemetery, and we have looked for the lamp all over those grounds."

"No." Natalie spoke up unexpectedly, her eyes wide with realization. "Not the graves of his forefathers. The grave of his *father*." She looked at Ichabod. "*Your* grave."

Abbie's lips parted. "I... I never thought of it that way, but I guess that's what it is, that cave where you awoke. From a certain point of view."

Hulda looked away, wiping quickly at her eyes.

"The question is," Zohar said, "if we go to that cave to destroy the lamp--are we going to have to fight our way past Jeremy to do it?"

000

"Hello, Father," came a voice from the shadows. "I was rather expecting you."

Ichabod turned his light toward the voice, and Jeremy reared his head back and shaded his eyes. 

He was thinner than when they had last seen him; his skin was greyish and hung loose on him.

"If you were expecting us, Jeremy, then you know why we're here," Ichabod answered guardedly.

"And I'm to make it easy for you," Jeremy sighed softly. "Because you *love* me."

"That would be preferable," Ichabod agreed, his aim not wavering.

"Then it seems I've disappointed you once again, Father," Jeremy snarled, and with a wave of his hand Abbie was suspended in midair, choking; with a rumble the ground collapsed beneath Hulda, swallowing her whole. 

Ichabod fired at Jeremy and Faolan charged.

The bullet froze in midair; Faolan found himself immobilized, struggling. "Did you think I wouldn't account for you, Moonborn?" Jeremy blinked at Abbie, who began to claw at her throat. "Keep trying and I *will* kill her, Father. You *might* get to me, but not before I crush Lieutenant Mills."

In a heartbeat a filthy, dirt-streaked hand clawed up out of the shifting rubble, followed by Hulda's head. Jenny jumped forward but Hulda waved her back. "It's not sta --" She was dragged below the surface again.

Ichabod was panting with anxiety. "What do you want?"

Jeremy smiled. "To see you suffer. As I have suffered. To bring the end times and know that you have failed."

Behind them, Hulda got to her feet while Rich helped Jenny up warily.

Ichabod lowered his gun. "Please, Jeremy," he said quietly.

Jeremy smiled. "Beg me."

Ichabod slowly sank to his knees. "Please, Jeremy. I beg you. Let her go."

Jeremy's glasses glinted; he looked positively delighted. Abbie choked and struggled, toes barely scraping the cave floor. "Would you *die* for her, Father?"

"Yes." Ichabod raised his hands. "If it's my blood you want, my son, take it--but spare her."

Rich began to mutter something under his breath.

"I've *told* you want I want, Father - you, in misery. You're too eager for martyrdom to suit me," Jeremy snarled, getting to his feet. "And yet I wonder if you have thought it through? Would Lieutenant Mills forgive you for abandoning her? Could you find peace in the afterlife, knowing you left her behind, when you promised - do you remember? - never to do so." He laughed. "Abandonment does seem to be your signature, doesn't it?" 

Then a strange look crossed Jeremy's face. "Shut up," he muttered out the side of his mouth.

Abbie fell suddenly to the ground, coughing. Jenny darted towards her sister, pulling her away from Jeremy. Behind them, Hulda's hands appeared again, dragging herself slowly out of the ground.

Faolan shook himself and reached down to help her.

Jeremy fell back. "Get away! Don't..."

Hulda gestured at the older man. "Grab him," she hissed to Faolan. "Hold him, let Ichabod --"

"How long have you lived in the cave with these spirits, Jeremy?" Rich asked in a low voice. "How long have they preyed on your mind as you struggled to keep them at bay?"

Faolan darted forward and grabbed Jeremy, pinning his arms to his sides. "Now, Crane!"

"NO! No, you can't... don't don't DON'T TOUCH ME!"

Ichabod took one long stride forward and pressed his hands to the sides of his son's agonized face.

Hula pulled her feet free of the soil and threw up a barrier to protect jenny and Abbie, then bent to the lieutenant's welfare, hands alight.

Jeremy reared back, screaming. "STOP! ST... Father... please..."

"When your parents' love burns you like fire, you can't deny its existence," Rich said, his voice rising above Jeremy's screams. "If it weren't real, it wouldn't burn."

Ichabod held on grimly.

Jeremy's visage flickered as he struggled, and Ichabod could see reflected there the child he'd been, the frightened youth, the frantic young man, the betrayed adult - every face of his son, all of them scared, all of them calling out. "Father! Help -- help m --"

"I am helping," he said, choking on a sob. "I'm trying to save you."

Jeremy thrashed, but Faolan only held him tighter.

Jenny helped Abbie sit up; Hulda pushed muddy hair out of her grimy face and carefully extended her force shield to include Rich, who was still talking to Jeremy, low and clear. Froth appeared at the corners of Jeremy's mouth as he struggled and panted.

"Let go of your desire for revenge, Jeremy Crane. Let it go, and Moloch will let go of you."

"There is nothing left of me but revenge," he keened, his eyes wide and frightened.

"That's not true. You are not damned yet," Rich answered. "Love will carve away at hatred and violence until there is nothing but *you* left."

Jeremy whined, a high-pitched, animal sound. "Father -- father -- I didn't -- don't let them -- please, Papa, where are you?"

"I'm right here, Jeremy. Let it go."

The older man's lips drew back in a rictus and his back arched as though pulled taut by an invisible puppeteer; and then, all at once, Jeremy collapsed, went limp in Faolan's grip, sagging to the cave floor.

"Jeremy!" Ichabod knelt beside him.

Abbie, still coughing, tugged on Jenny's arm and pointed. There, in the corner of the cave, was a brownish-white shape: a pig's skull, with a small flame flickering in and empty eye socket. Jenny raised her gun and fired. The skull blew to pieces, fragments of bone and bits of no-one-wanted-to-know-what gelatin-like concoction flew everywhere.

A brisk, frozen wind whipped through the cave with a strange sucking sound, and then there was utter silence.

Jeremy looked up at his father, squinting. "He's... he's gone."

"Who's gone, Jeremy?"

"Moloch." Jeremy began to sob. "My father. My father is gone!"

Hulda let the barrier drop and went to the huddled men, sympathy in her dark eyes. She reached for Jeremy and for Ichabod, hoping to connect them. "Your father is here, Jeremy. Your family is here."

"You are not --" he shuddered and flinched away. "What have you *done* to me?"

"I separated you from your magic--and from Moloch," Ichabod answered quietly. "You are no longer a Horseman."

Jeremy let out a shuddering breath and buried his face in his hands.

Hulda leaned against Faolan, heedless of the dirt all over her. "Are you all right? Is everyone okay?"

"Abbie." Ichabod jumped to his feet and ran over to her.

Abbie jumped to her feet and met Crane halfway, throwing herself into his arms.

"Are you alright?" he asked worriedly.

"Yes," she held him tightly. "Yes, I'm fine. Are you?"

He took a deep breath and nodded, then turned to look at Jeremy. He was still sitting on the floor sobbing; Faolan had let go of him in some distaste.

Jenny studied him. "What do we do with him?"

Abbie turned within Ichabod's embrace to contemplate the man who'd so lately been their Nemesis. "I can't hold him on anything - no evidence, not that would hold up. Could he still hurt us?" she asked Hulda.

Hulda shook her head, slowly. "He's as mundane as you are, now."

Abbie contemplated a snarky answer--but if Jeremy perpetrated any mundane crimes, the mundane police would be on his mundane ass. She held her peace.

Rich picked his way across the cave and squatted in front of the older man. "This is on you now, Jeremy. The choices you make now will shape who you truly are. If you need somewhere to go, you'll find one at our church." He waited in vain for a response; with a sigh he stood up and looked at the others.

Hulda got to her feet and led Faolan toward the moonlight pouring in the cave mouth, shivering slightly in the chill breeze. "Let's go home."


	7. Chapter 7

It was a quiet and subdued group that trudged back through the woods to their cars. Everyone took affectionate leave of one another.

They left an unresponsive Jeremy in the cave. He'd gotten there somehow; presumably he had transportation somewhere. Abbie refused to think about it.

She dropped Rich at the halfway house, Jenny at her apartment, and drove Ichabod to the cabin.

Once inside, he dropped wearily onto the couch and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

Abbie locked up, tossing her keys onto the kitchen table, and poured them each a glass of rum. She doffed her jacket and curled up next to him, nudging his hand with the glass. "Thought maybe you could use this."

"Mmm. Thank you." He sipped at it, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

She leaned into him. "I was proud of you today. And furious with you. But mostly proud."

He raised his eyebrows in some surprise. "Furious?"

"Yep." Abbie downed the rest of her drink and climbed onto his lap, cupping his face. "If you *ever* try to leave me behind again, I swear..."

He kissed her. "I can't promise, /ma belle/. If it comes down to me or you... it will always be you. I will do whatever I must to save you."

She fisted her hands into the lapels of his jacket. "Stalemate, then, because I'll do the same, Crane. I'd follow you into the abyss if I had to, just to bring you back. Or stay there with you if I couldn't. My heart..." She rested her forehead on his, closed her eyes. "It won't beat without you. I don't want it to."

He kissed her, pressing her close to him. "I love you, Grace Abigail."

"Yeah?" She smiled at him, tugging the tie from his hair. "Prove it."

000

Ichabod lay quietly, tracing absent patterns on Abbie's bare shoulder with the tips of his fingers.

"Penny for them," she murmured against the skin of his chest.

"I was just considering this evening's events," he said slowly.

Abbie chuckled, low and soft, smoothing a palm across his pectorals. "*Recent* events?"

He breathed a small laugh. "Will you be offended if I say no, my flower?"

"Mm mm," she shook her head. "Told you I was proud of you today, Ichabod. You stopped a horseman. You and that huge, amazing heart of yours." Abbie kissed his shoulder. "You brought Jeremy back from the razor's edge he's been living on for centuries, just because you loved him." Tears pricked her eyes, and she didn't try to hide them, for a change.

"That's what I was thinking about," he admitted. "What defeated him was love. Because love is the opposite of War."

She stilled. "I hadn't thought about it that way. But you're right."

"Do you suppose it's possible," he said, carefully suppressed excitement in his voice, "that it would be possible to defeat the other three Horsemen? That we could separate them *all* from Moloch?"

Abbie thought about that. "After today, yeah, I do. Why else would Moloch feel so threatened by us?" She smiled, eyes sparkling, just as excited as he. "Yes, my love. I think we *can*."

000  
*Next sequel*  
000

Ichabod checked the time on the chicken breasts. Ten minutes to go, and everyone would be here soon. He finished setting the table with a satisfied smile. He was proud that he had learned to use a twenty-first century cooking to make more than the frozen dinners Abbie generally stuck to. A small accomplishment, perhaps, but one that gave him great satisfaction.

Abbie came out of the bedroom, tying her hair into a ponytail. "Hey, Betty Crocker." She looped her arms around his waist. "Can I do anything to help?"

"No, I believe everything is ready," he smiled down at her. "And for once, I need not ask who Betty Crocker is."

She looked up at him, tilting her head, lips quirking slightly. "Can I do anything to distract the chef?"

"Better not. Hulda and Faolan will be here anytime." He leaned down to kiss her.

"Mm, but a man who knows his way around the kitchen is so *sexy*. Oh, I'll behave," she added, eyes sparkling. "For now."

There was a knock at the door.

He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling, and went to open the door. "Come in, come in!"

...

After a moment's silence for grace, Hulda dug in. "Mm, lovely. Why haven't you been doing the cooking all along?" she teased. "So how was everyone's week?"

"Excellent. Shoveled a lot of snow," Ichabod answered with a smile.

Abbie patted his arm. "I bet that hasn't changed much in the last few centuries. Snow always needs to be shoveled." She lifted a shoulder. "Pretty average week, work-wise. Nothing hinky, thank goodness. Couple of break-ins, one weird theft of a box of donuts. The usual."

"As long as they are not *my* donuts, I care not," Ichabod quipped. "Salad?"

...

Hulda leaned back, patting her stomach. "Protein loading or not, I'm stuffed. That was delicious, Cousin."

"I hope you are not too full," he said, rising and going to the kitchen, "because I made dessert."

His cousin groaned. "I can't. I'll steal a bite of Faolan's, though."

"Well, I'm not holding back," Abbie collected the empty dishes and followed him toward the kitchen island. "Serve me up. What'd you make?"

He pulled out a pan of brownies, which he had had warming in the oven, and set a jar of cherry ice-cream-topping beside them.

"Betty Crocker," he answered with a grin.

Abbie laughed. "Perfect."

000

“You open yours first,” Abbie told Crane, her dark eyes alight with excitement. She tucked her legs under her and leaned against his shoulder, the warmth of the cabins’ open fireplace keeping the winter chill away.

“But surely ladies first?” Ichabod demurred with a smile.

She shook her head. “Age before beauty, Crane.”

“Ah.” He dropped a quick kiss on those heavenly lips of hers. “As you *are* an undisputed beauty, I shall ignore the comment upon my age.”

The first gift he opened was from Lee: a children’s textbook on the American Revolution. The bookmark read, ‘I thought you might enjoy finding all the inaccuracies. Merry Christmas.’ Intrigued, Ichabod let the book fall open at a random page, and immediately began expostulating over what he found there. Abbie, giggling, snatched the text away from him. “Small doses of this one, I think. Next?”

Faolan’s gift consisted of a set of six hand-forged steak knives, the handles beautifully-wrought twisted steel. A penny was taped to the box, which Ichabod looked at quizzically.

“Hulda’s doing, I bet. There’s a superstition that if you give someone a blade it cuts the friendship, so some people include a penny. You give it back to them when you see them, in ‘payment’ for the knives, so that it’s technically not a gift. Those are gorgeous.”

“Ah. I believe I have heard that tradition. MacKenna is a master at his craft. Will you not open one now?”

“All right. This is from Zohar, for both of us.” It proved to be a pair of DVDs: ‘Kate & Leopold’ and ‘Hocus Pocus'. Abbie chuckled. “Nice segue, Zo. One on time-travel, and one on witchcraft, sort of. What’s next?”

Jenny had given them each books: Abbie’s on Biblical mythology, and Crane’s a Silver Palate cookbook. From Nat had come a picture frame, with a photo of the two Witnesses, asleep on the way home from the Salem field trip; and a large Christmas card signed by all of her students.

Ichabod tore open his gift from Hulda last and sat staring at it slackjawed: a beautiful violin, as nice as her own. “Wow,” said Abbie, touching the satiny wood with her fingertips. “I didn’t even know you played.”

“Since I was a boy,” he acknowledged, lifting the instrument carefully. “I merely haven’t had one to play.”

“Play me something.”

He took a moment to tune it, and then played a few bars of the ‘Coventry Carol’, followed by ‘Joy to the World’, before laying the violin back in its case. Ichabod grinned at her. “It is a fortunate thing we do not live in New England," he said mock-seriously: "in my day, it was illegal there to play an instrument on Christmas day.”

She raised her brows. “You hardened criminal. Remind me to cuff you later.”

“What did Hulda give you?” He leaned forward curiously as Abbie lifted the lid of the box. 

There was an envelope taped to the inside lid, which Abbie opened. “Oh, nice! A romantic spa experience for two. Massages, hot stones, seaweed wrapping, facials, mani/pedis… wow, she went all out.”

“I understood roughly one word in three, but if you are pleased, then so am I. There appears to be more.” Crane reached into the box. “What is ‘honey dust’? And ‘chocolate body paint’?”

The lieutenant began to laugh. “Here,” she took the honey dust from him and cracked open the tin, extracting a feather puff. “Hold out your arm.” Crane obediently did so, and Abbie painted a shimmering stripe down his skin.

“That tickles." He sniffed. "The dust has a most pleasing fragrance. I fail to see, however –“

“Lick it.”

“I’m to – you want me to lick my arm.” Abbie nodded, lips quirking. Ichabod gave his arm a tentative swipe with his tongue. “It’s quite good,” he observed, and she watched with amusement until he realized the possibilities. “Oh. OH. It’s for –“ Crane snatched the puff and tin from her and dusted some of the powder along the side of her neck. “Empirical data is clearly required,” he murmured, blue eyes gleaming, as he kissed away the sweet dust to the sound of Abbie’s emphatic approval. Inordinately pleased, Ichabod sat back. “And this body paint – these other things – are in the same line, I presume. How very… kind of Hulda,” he settled on with a grin. What an odd gift for Christmas. “And that flat box tucked in at the side?”

“Says it’s just for me.” She cracked it open, caught a glimpse of satin and lace, and closed it. “Something for me to wear. I’ll try it on later.”

“If it is in the same vein as these other items, I very much look forward to it.” Ichabod chuckled.


	8. Chapter 8

"Um... ok." Hulda wrinkled her nose, thinking. Presumably this was supposed to be something the person in question wouldn't otherwise do. Hmm. "Abbie, since this is your idea. Truth or dare?"

"Oh, dare. Absolutely. And don't pull punches."

"All right. Do some bellydancing and let me record you and send it to Ichabod."

"Absolutely!" Abbie leapt to her feet and adjusted her bathrobe, which she had refused to take off after the massage. "Got your phone?"

Hulda waved it at her, thumbing the 'record' button. "Ready? Go!"

When Abbie danced, she didn't hold back. She performed an eye-popping series of hip gyrations, snake arms and shimmies--not to mention some moves Natalie was relatively certain were NOT belly-dancing.

For her part Hulda was having a hard time keeping the camera still, she was so busy trying to suppress her laughter. Wait until Crane saw this - oh, the reply she'd get! After a couple of minutes she stopped the recording, tears of mirth running down her cheeks. "Stop, stop," she wheezed. "I'm sending it now..." and she did so, fumbling a bit because she could hardly see the phone.

Abbie plopped down on the couch with a satisfied smile. "And while we wait for that VERY interesting reply--Natalie, your go!"

...

Hulda's phone pinged while she was out of the room. Jonesy read Ichabod's text aloud. "Are you mad? I am surrounded by drunken men who are now clamoring to see the video I have been sent."

A minute later, Abbie's phone pinged. She read the text and began to laugh. "He says, 'I hope to see more of that dance tonight'!"

000

*drunken faolan*

"All right, James Bond, stay here. I'll go get the car." Bruno draped Faolan on Ichabod's shoulder and went toward the car park, whistling.

"Orfeo et Eurydice," Ichabod and Faolan both said in unison. They looked at one another and grinned.

"I was at the opening performance of that," Faolan boasted.

Ichabod's brows snapped together. "The opening performance in London?"

"Yeah. Why? Think I'm not old enough?" Faolan laughed.

"The seventh of April, 1770," Ichabod said slowly. "I was there, too."

Zohar was watching, his head swiveling like he was at a tennis match. "Wait, what?"

"What? Noooo," Faolan said.

"Yes! I was twenty years old. I was in Lady Julia Haversham's box, on the left side of the theatre. I was wearing a lavender silk suit with gold embroidery."

Faolan was laughing. "Your memory!"

"Where were you? Maybe I saw you!" Ichabod was very excited.

"In the gallery!" Faolan chuckled. "I didn't have the money for the pit."

Bruno had pulled up while they were talking and was listening to this exchange. "What's going on?"

Zohar flapped his hand. "They went to the theater together like 300 years ago and just now figured it out. What about you, Tobias, were you there too?"

The stately man chuckled. "Before my time, I'm afraid."

Ichabod was frowning hard. "In the corridor. Between acts two and three," he said slowly. "I had turned around at the door to say something to Lady Haversham's daughter, and... I ran into you. Dark green suit, your own hair, in gray powder."

Faolan threw back his head and laughed. "I remember that suit!"

"Holy shit," Zohar said slowly. "That's... amazing."

"You would look nice in green," contributed the unflappable Bruno, "but gray hair does you no favors, my friend."

Tobias shook his ponderous head. "This is an enormously strange conversation."

000

Meanwhile, Ichabod and Abbie were one of the waltzing couples. "Abbie?"

She smiled up at him. "Crane?"

"I was just, er..." He cleared his throat.

"What is it?" Abbie shifted her left hand to caress the side of his neck. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Er... I just wondered... what your opinion was on the subject of marriage?" He was blushing.

Her eyebrows went up. "I'm pro the idea, generally. 

...

"No, I mean yes, of course. But..." He cleared his throat again. "While most ladies of my time held marriage to be the general goal, I am aware that some women of this century... have no desire ever to marry. I simply wondered what your personal views were." His face was, if possible, even redder.

"Oh. I see." She fingered his collar. "Depends on who's asking."

"Ah--Yes. Of course."

"If," she went on, "for example, Jenny asked me what I thought, I'd tell her I think marriage is a great idea if you have the right guy. If Zohar asked me, I'd say you have to be partners first, that's the most important thing. If it was Hulda, I'd agree with her that having a blindingly sexy older man, preferably with an accent, is nothing but positive. And if Faolan asked me, I'd tell him... beards are sexy." She looked at him from under her lashes. "Does that clear it up for you at all?"

His blush began to recede and he smiled down into her eyes. "Yes, it does."

"I'm glad I could help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And THAT, I'm afraid, is the end of the Family Ties series. Only it's not, because Jen and I have now finished the first draft of the original fiction version, entitled 'Force Majeure'. We've got some revisions to do, and then we're going to start sending it to publishers. I'll put a note in my profile when somebody picks it up!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! You guys gave us the courage and motivation to keep going with this. :) *blows kisses*


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